"bairn" poems
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart.
Spilling out snapshot flashes of life like a flick book's muffled cries.
Controversial plastic shell, elastic strap, stick insect mattel covetted for months
until Santa dropped it down the chimney,
almost as fast as she sprogged and regained her figure
- the original scrummy yummy mummy set to spread low self esteem.
My daddy said anyone can crank out a kid like she did,
as my mother ground her teeth to protest on behalf of her traumatised frame.
Strange, I almost became one of the lost - before I grew cells and self,
another fragile foetus swinging on a noose
from gallows where once a ****** failed to stayed closed.
Little life curled tight self soothing sings al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
as I lie beneath my shroud of sadness filled with down shrinking from the light of day
I want to tell you that I love you,
that my heart brays, beats, bleets, breaks, aches for you.
My soul, spirit, self thrice chorus al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
as waters flow from deep to deep
where danger dances and solace is sought
from beyond the fruitless orchards and willows weeping
branches reaching out for you.
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
surrounded by madonna, ***** and all betwixt
spheres of life protruding, pronounced, announcing themselves;
in streets where bundles, terrors, cherubs, banting, brat and bairn alike
shriek, scream, squeal, shout, squalk, squabble, sing
in a cacophony that makes my heart weep and ache in longing
to sing to self in solitude al na tivke iredem bim'nucha.
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
pulsating thoughts, dreams, hopes of you through the whole of me.
Brought to my knees I seek wisdom, guidence, strength to let you go.
The river is waiting for you, you who I hold tight in my caul
trying to trust, seeking strength to hakshev le'ivshat haga'lim
holding the thought of you,
the love of you,
the hope of you
tight in my arms crooning my lullaby of lament
al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
Banished before thon barren plains,
Where treacherous tears abstain
Fare. Fair is the waste,
The impurity of deep, decrepit weeds.
And dage brings fruit then touched
Only by their ravens of rot.
May they paint thine tainted stave
In golden garth and lull the lark;
“Mine, Sweet babe,
Robbed of cradle
Readied for ritual.
Mine, Sweet babe,
Gore masked black
Within the crimson bath.”
Lacen their throats, the gullets that gloat!
Lest langes of thorns, wrap the bairn sworn.
Death breeds glore o’er luid nights
Beldam rise belles in wicked repel.
Round the funeral pyre.
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 1:38 PM UTC
Cherubim, Seraphim
Watching from above, afar a flying dove; crepuscular
Peace of mind in you we find, arcane
Playing amongst the darkness, what we were I forgot
Bairn devine,
Define;
Angelic promises, Demonic pride
Cosmic tears, is it to ourselves we lie?
Through my eyes I see the mirror of indifference
Aeon-Antiquity
Shadows illuminated by night, the moon the bringer of light
Corona, soul.
Angelic promises made in hell!
Deistic dipterous demons within thee; watch 'de'skies',
Demonic pride facing fears vanquishing friend or fiend
The belligerent zenith a conflagerated nirvana.
Inside ourselves we die, we lie for salvation; trying.
You watched us in thy darkness-
You took away the light;
Now know more, shadows shed pain
An acrimonial heaven built upon the burning of sepulchre.
Tear drops of eternal rain
Splashing on the doorstep of purgatory
Like dew on a rose
Dawn arisen,
Ethereal ebullience the dream of cornucopia;
An Elysian asphodel
Cerulean, Azure.
1997 ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
i
Her Bayanihan entity, maketh me Muni-muni in the dusk
Her Humaling for me is relishing, alleluia for her, wanderlust;
I wilt court her mine soon, so she shalt knoweth all is bona fide
I'll taketh her hand in courtship, pushing all the past hurt aside.
ii
I wilt Siping with her in the sugar, in the bowl she dip's her hand
I'll dip mine finger's as well deep inside, inside her mind of tan;
I'll draweth her name on cardboard, and use black marker to,
Like bairn's in yard's, with relic yarn, I'll connect to mine muse.
iii
And thus to be fused, from ourn electrical sensual Spark's
Naked in the world's view, just as actor's, playing the stage part;
Though tis no script, this page is written by ourn amorous desire
Indigenous bodie's, to light the torches, love HOTT, all sweet fire.
iv
Mango to be viscid, between me and her's succulent tang
Her arm's wrapped around mine neck, not letting go, she hang's;
She is Makisig in perfect perfection, wearing a domino mask
Ballroom style, she driveth me wild, her love tis free, not a task.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©あある じぇえん
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
Cauld-bluided, humphing ower the stark grey hills
Gowd een skinkle to an fro
Split tongue lappin at the wind-blown smells
Bog grass blackens whaur ye go
Smoke split shielings and the clammerin o bairns
Bone cracked mithers in yer wake
Heirt-scaud ruin fae the valleys tae the cairns
Driven by a drouth ye canny slake
Crib tale shapit unner creakin heather thatch
Howf born craitur o the nicht
Auld sangs spake aboot the maidens ye would ******
Fleggit bairns tae keep intil the licht
True? Naw, havers, juist the blaflum o wives
God nivver biggit ocht sae fell
But ae bairn crouchin in the ruins o its life
Can think o naethin else the tale tae tell
Blin, lost, forwandert fae the shattered faimly hame
Warslin wi fear tae unnerstan
White winds whistle as he gies the beast a name
And dragons whiles can take the form o man.
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 2:39 AM UTC
i. iii.
Daliythers expand,
Afore man's image, bridging Nova's.
Twin flame heat;
Extra-amourials,
lantern's to be the
There were writing's. Star's.
On the wall's; carved
Afar, betwixt the jar's,
Wherein tear's art
Stored from children's
Long.
ii. iv.
Exuberance aroused. Me and mine Jane
Dark matter to ourn halo O' mine twin flame;
Me and mine Jane
From the heaven's whence
We came.
Head's; bairns of the super-
Natural, never born, never
Dead.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
Boy meets girl.
Girl marries boy.
Baby comes nine months later
— blessed little killjoy.
Boy neglects girl.
Girl henpecks boy.
There'll be hell to pay
for slighting Helen of Troy.
Such an elegant fear,
this alliance, and yet,
when it's held in selfish hands
it merrily dissolves,
turning as tedious
and drab as Shakespeare.
Boy annoys girl.
Girl leaves boy.
It takes a special kind of madness
in building to simply then destroy.
Turn the other cheek
and Judas will kiss that one too,
reduce the bairn's fever
by visiting daddy's igloo.
Weekends are pay toilets
and happy meals,
frustration is a word all too real.
When did antipathy begin to rule?
About the time diplomacy was forced
into playing the fool.
The good times no one catalogues,
this life has gone straight to the dogs.
The Iditarod Trail extends
from Seward to Nome.
Run the race and make believe
the kids are tucked in safe at home.
According to Dorothy
there's no place like it.
Jun 23, 2023
Jun 23, 2023 at 6:50 AM UTC
The probity of paraclete malafide
By crocodile tears smithed
Thrawing the wand whilst green
As the chime child of the
Passing bell trips the light fantastic
By hook or by crook in best bib
And tucker igniting corpse candles
Travelling along the soul road
Shroved by guardian crosses made
Of that fatal tree, the gallow of knowledge
Hung by familiar elders
Taking back the breath of life.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 8:52 AM UTC
In the Monolithic municipalities,
We shalt wander betwixt the
megalithic glyph's; bairn's of
somandric design, extra-
terrestrial's of wild blue
Yonder rhyme, sealed
By a kiss. Verily, verily,
Twas heaven's wish.
For me and mine
Jane, to jump
Aboard,
Another's
Ship's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
Trapped.
I am snared,
forever burning.
The very feathers
circling my throat
tingle with flame.
Embers shiver
as they drip
down my back.
I am ashes.
There are hands,
with want to touch,
the desperate
feverish mortals
seeking forever,
scrabble about,
thieving my eternity.
But I do not hold
the grail they seek.
I am no fountain
for life and for living.
I am an undead curse,
ringed with flame.
My talons are pitch
and empty as coal.
The pool of my eye has
the haze of raw steam.
I did not choose.
I was a spark and
no new-born flicker
shall birth from my
flank. I will never put
tinder and flint to my
breast, never pull forth
a struggling bairn.
I am barren.
Never will the scorch
spread further than
my soul. The swoop
of my neck is the
tongue of the flames.
I am bound in this burning.
The smoke fills my lungs,
blacken and sear.
I cough as I choke,
my skin catches light.
Cracks.
I am dying.
Everything flames,
spirals within.
I am free,
roasting to pieces,
crumble to dust.
I am burning,
beaten wings
an inferno.
I am free.
Inhale the ashes.
I am reborn.
Again.
Trapped.
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 12:46 AM UTC
.
The heat of you,
Bairn in my hands,
I am strung with you,
My song sings out ever
To one unbridled listener,
A lad as wild as gusty seas
And I keen on tighten strings,
Casted about thee, four winds
And am latched with old moon,
My tunes are loudy, unheard of,
Sadder than empty airs in hollow
Bars, bereft of any joy dancers.
Like you I have known love,
In gentle touches that swoon
And take flight up dizzy reels,
I hold you, like fresh newborn,
Child of melody an sleepy dove,
But still, in swells of driest fears,
Unlike you, body of live, heart
Wood, colour of striped tiger,
Regal structure, unchained,
Aged about languid truths,
My fingers unleash you,
Yet they lock, in frieze,
Captive, painting nil
Dreams of brood.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 12:31 AM UTC
i.
Lá breithe shona duit, from whence I came.
Birthed from thy womb, a bairn of thy soothe,
Máthair, Máthair; balm to mine wound's.
ii.
How didst thou deal with me, so needy
And in want; yet mother thou didst
Sheweth me that love is worth more
Than material stuff.
iii.
As I grew, it's thee I knew, that shewed me
Compassion existed; in a world still cruel.
Thou art mine guidestone, in heaven's
Room's, thou art the ray that glow's
Like the midnight moon.
iv.
As when the fear doth shew and come,
To thee, Máthair; I'll alway's run. It's
Thy smile that overpowers the sun,
For thou art the one; who bring's
Sunny day's.
v.
Spiritually were connected, in every way,
Emotionally we've resurrected, aloft death's
Own shade; Lá breithe shona duit, for
Another day, mayest ourn Angel's
Guide thy way, and to God we'll
Praise.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Juna nagley birthday dedication
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
Dearly Black Annis your Mercy please Spare
So shibble me Eyes by your Flesh glow Blue
A Bairn like me lack much Coat on your Wear
Barely enough to Warm your Shingles few
For as the Cave our peeping fancies fly
Risk your Favours through else spawn our regret
Plunder with your Nails; Then blow-out or Sigh
For reasons our Valiance misinterpret
If the Light room harness for Virtue's floor
To seep out your Forever Doomed Assign
A Task at hand cringe Concepts at the moor
T'was Songs for Shells allow me to Resign.
For Children still plead and Pledge to Behave
Else the Cornerdoor's **** rapes even the Brave.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
Rest assured by the sandy shore,
A wee lass, pines her love on the moor.
Leave her ‘lone ‘till the ‘morrow,
And let the wee lass release her sorrow.
Her Child's cry from within thy womb,
Darkened, double bairn in her bodies room.
Och, the lasses pain will remain,
But her mans e’er lasting love will keep her sane.
Bein’ glad for the child,
‘Twill be hard to consume her wild.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 6:00 AM UTC
She lived in a tiny cottage
On top of a sea-bound bluff,
Looked down on the cold blue waters
In fair weather, and in rough,
The smoke that curled from her chimney piece
Was snatched away by the wind
So couldn’t obscure the window where
She stood, and her eyes were pinned.
She saw the gaggle of soldiers
Rise up, and out of the marsh,
And remembered a past encounter,
Their treatment of her was harsh,
She snipped the lock on the window, then
She hurried to bar the door,
Raised the trap to the cellar, and
Slid down to the cellar floor.
She lay in hopes they would pass on by,
Would ignore her humble home,
Would think that there was a man nearby
Not a woman there, alone,
She knew of the fate of others who
Had invited the soldiers in,
For many a soldier’s bairn was born
The result of a soldier’s sin.
She heard them muttering round the house
And tapping the window pane,
Beating a tattoo on the door
Till she thought she’d go insane,
They’d seen the smoke from her chimney piece
And they called, ‘Hey you inside,
We need to shelter the night at least,
It’s wintry here outside.’
But still she lay on the cellar floor
As quiet as any mouse,
She wasn’t going to let them in
To her tiny little house,
She heard the crash as the timber gave
Away on her cottage door,
And heard the thump of their feet above
As they stomped across her floor.
She heard the sound of their puzzlement
When they found the cottage bare,
‘Somebody must have lit the fire,
But now, they’re just not there.’
She heard them smashing her crockery
And drinking beer from her ***
She never had enough food to spare
But she knew they’d eat the lot.
Down below was a musket that
She’d kept well oiled and cleaned,
Along with a horn of powder that
She’d felt worthwhile redeemed,
She found the shot and she rammed it home
There was nothing left to chance,
The first to open that trapdoor would
Begin his final dance.
The night came on and they settled down,
Above, she could hear them snore,
She wondered whether they’d go away
When the sun came up, once more,
But then, sometime in the early hours
She heard the trapdoor creak,
And a pair of eyes were hypnotised
As they saw the musket speak.
There once was a tiny cottage
On top of a sea-bound bluff,
It’s now burnt out, just a shell without
A roof or a door, it’s rough,
While down in the cold blue waters
Lies a woman, drowned and dead,
And up on the bluff, a soldier’s grave,
Buried, without a head.
David Lewis Paget
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 6:16 AM UTC
Dusty the miller sits on the sill
And idly waits for a turn of the mill,
but the wind is fickle and will not blow
so the sails won’t turn and the mill won’t go,
and Dusty the miller his wage can’t earn
for his blooming wife and his little bairn.
So he sends for Toby from down the lane
who sailed the seas of the Spanish Main,
and fought aboard The Prince of Wales
to whistle a wind up to drive the sails.
So Toby raised the pipe to his lips
and began to blow like they do on ships
and the notes went soaring into the sky,
to the home of the north wind bye and bye.
On hearing them the north wind draws
a mighty breath, and then he roars
and the sails of the mill begin to fill
and the last I heard they were turning still…
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
What makes you Feel the full sting of
new harmony in the world?
So, the moon spoke to you as a bairn?
What makes you Think you could string
new harmony through our world?
Go, a revelation is awaiting you, the brave.
What makes you Conceive you should sing
new harmony with her world?
No, the truth is awakening in you, a bane!
What makes you Believe you will bring
new harmony to their world?
Lo, you’re more likely to set it all ablaze.
Archetype of Sadness
Epitome of Love
Architect in all of this; know you are enough!
Oct 2, 2023
Oct 2, 2023 at 5:45 PM UTC
The castle was smaller than I’d thought
In the Scottish countryside,
It sat in a hollow called Claymore Court
Where all the defenders died,
The signs of cannon, pounding the towers
Were there in the crumbled walls,
And shrubs grew out of the rubbled bowers
While trees took root in the halls.
I sensed a touch of hostility
The moment I reached the gate,
For Angus’s friendability
Came on just a little late,
We’d both attended the Priory School
But that had been way back then,
And I, in parting, called him a fool,
He wouldn’t remember when.
But he did us proud with a suckling pig
And a quart of **** o’ the North’,
Marie, who knew him, was ever so big
And sat with me, holding forth.
I had no mind that he felt so strong,
I’d have left the woman at home,
He had this feeling I’d done him wrong
When I coaxed Marie to roam.
And there she sat with a month to go
Way out in front with our bairn,
I didn’t know it would crease him so
But there, you live and you learn.
He coaxed her drink, with a dreadful leer
Pressed on her **** o’ the North,
It wasn’t as if she was drinking beer
Or water, for all that it’s worth.
We went to bed in a tower room
When the moon rose over the glen,
It felt to me like a Highland tomb
As it was to my clan back then,
Marie began to moan in the night
That the bairn was coming forth,
It had a skinful, thanks to Marie
Of that liquor, **** o’ the North.
And Angus heard and he came to gloat
When he heard that she couldn’t hold,
I dropped him there, head first in the moat
To a grave both wet and cold.
Marie and I, we sit in the barn
And the blame swings back and forth,
What price my friend, and a helpless bairn
To a jar of **** o’ the North?
David Lewis Paget
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
Temple tunics
On antipodal brim
Enfolding in boughs
Lochs of lagoon
No broadcasts
To ruin ourn tune
Ourn tress to clout
No shame nor doubt
Endless labyrinth
North to south
Feeding doves by hand
Grains of tan
Whilst the bairn scowl
For mimes and Lambs
Broods of technology
Tearing down filth
Governmental collapse
Every man's self
In his house!!!
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
both souls missing
forcibly torn apart
in the dead of night.
one by one
one by two.
the only witness is the bairn.
and
the are effects everlasting.
enduring continuous;
indecisive ,
melancholia,
re-living.
the bairn faces pain.
"is it my fault?"
"is there something wrong in the brain?"
"how can I close this vault?"
an end of a life
a return of a soul
that's my plan to once again feel whole.
Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 1:43 PM UTC